


a moment's deliberation

by Manzanas



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e12 She's a Murderer, Fluff and Angst, Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manzanas/pseuds/Manzanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor's falling apart, and Oliver doesn't want to play the bad guy. </p><p>Coda to 1x12.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a moment's deliberation

**Author's Note:**

> basically the missing connor/oliver scene from episode 12

"I don't want to be a lawyer anymore."  

The words break the silence of the apartment, and Oliver wonders when he got used to a quiet Connor, one who turns up at his apartment with few reasons and even fewer words. It takes a moment for the words to register and Oliver almost drops the book he was reading, unable to comprehend what Connor's just told him.

Connor doesn’t want to be a lawyer anymore. Connor took four years of prelaw, overworked himself for an internship under a tyrant with questionable practices and even more questionable morals, slept with strangers to get an edge on cases and Connor doesn’t want to be a lawyer anymore.

"What?" Oliver looks over at Connor, whose eyes are trained resolutely on the floor. Connor's newest habit (but certainly not his most dangerous); Oliver can't remember the last time Connor actually looked him in the eyes.  

"I don’t-” Connor's words catch, break off, and Oliver can tell by the way he's staring at the floor that the law student is seeing something other than the carpet in front of him. "I don't want to be a lawyer. Or a law student. Or work for Annalise fucking Keating anymore. I just don't."  

And Oliver knows, _Oliver knows_ , this has something to do with that night. That night when Connor came crashing back into his life, a completely different person than the cocky intern he had met months ago, wrecked and haunted and system full of drugs.  

They don't talk about that night. They talk about Oliver’s work, Connor’s school, the drugs that make Connor feel as though life is actually worth living, but they don’t talk about that night.

Clearly, they need to talk now.

After a moment’s deliberation, Oliver slides to the other side of couch and settles next to Connor, bridging the carefully kept distance between the two of them, hesitantly placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder.  

There's a tension underlying everything they do, every moment they share, in the way Connor doesn't look at him, the way Connor keeps his distance, the way Connor respects Oliver's boundaries, but still shows up at his door every few nights, exhausted yet _clean_. Connor keeps himself as close as he can while waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Oliver doesn't want to think about the way Connor expects everything to blow up in his face at a moment’s notice.  

"Talk to me," Oliver says, feeling Connor lose some of his stiffness under his hand as he leans into the touch, his shoulders slumping and jaw clenching before quickly relaxing again.  

Connor draws his knees up, wrapping his arms around them while shifting his eyes to the wall. The law student takes a deep breath, seemingly steadying himself before what he has to say, and then lets it all out in rush of air that sounds too much like defeat for someone who Oliver once thought had everything he could have ever wanted.

"Sam Keating is dead. I saw it on the news... they found his body in a landfill, charred and dissembled." The words are clipped, neutral. Connor could be talking about the weather for all he seemed to care. “The cops think Annalise did it, in a fit of rage ‘cause Sam was a cheating bastard.”

Oliver's stomach drops, and he watches as Connor curls even further into himself, face unnaturally pale and expression stone.  

"And I think," Connor pauses, and a laugh punches itself out of him, ugly and lacking humor, "I think, 'I could be working for a murderer.' And guess what? It doesn't matter, 'cause I'm still going to go to work tomorrow. And I'm still going to go to her classes. And then I'm going to get my fucking law degree, and I might be working for a _murderer_!” 

Connor is nearing hysterics by the end of it, hands clutching the fabric of his jeans, breaths hitching and breaking off, eyes glassy and unfocused.

Oliver's reminded of a different Connor, who sat outside his door, eyes just as distant and mouth a litany of chants. _I screwed up, I screwed up, I screwed up._

Oliver hesitates (just as he did before, just as unsure as before), then carefully lets go of the other man’s shoulder before reaching out and grasping one of Connor's hands. It's shaking, palms damp, but Connor immediately flips his hand, clutching back, so Oliver wraps it in both his palms, rubbing soothing circling into the skin under his knuckles.  

"Connor, you need to calm down," Oliver tries, voice as gentle as he can make it, but it's instantly clear those are the wrong words.  

" _Calm down_?” Connor laughs again, and it’s worse than before. It’s broken, scraping against his throat in a way that makes Oliver think that maybe Connor’s holding back a scream. “Murder, Oliver, I'm talking about _murder_. Someone fucking murdered Sam, just killed him and then did a sorry fucking job of trying to cover it up! And you, you want me to be _calm_."

Connor yanks his hand away, frantic eyes finally meeting Oliver's before skidding away again. He uncurls himself and scrambles the short distance down the couch away from Oliver, posture turning stiff and tense. The few feet now between them acts as a chasm, and Oliver’s never been further from Connor than at that moment.

Connor looks like a caged animal, eyes shifting and body twitching like he wants to escape, but isn't sure he can make it. Like he isn’t sure Oliver would let him. He's tugging on his shirt sleeves, pulling them over his hands in what looks like a desperate attempt to hide himself. Another new habit of Connor’s, and Oliver feels like he could fix everything, if only he knew what Connor was hiding from.   

Taking a deep breath, Oliver slowly follows Connor to the end of the couch, not missing the way the other man shrinks back, quickly realizing he has nowhere left to go. Resignation clouds Connor's expression and Oliver really doesn't want to be the bad guy.  

So Oliver reaches out, and tugs Connor back towards him. And maybe that's what Connor _really_ needs, more than old movies and quiet nights in, someone who's willing to reach out and _pull_ even when he’s trying to push away.

This time, there's no hesitation as Oliver wraps Connor in his arms, bringing their chests flush against each other. The other man instinctively returns the embrace, head fitting itself in the crook on Oliver's neck, warm breaths puffing out against his collarbone as Connor attempts to calm his breathing. 

Oliver can’t think of a time when they were this close that didn’t end with sex.  

Rubbing his hand up and down the length of Connor's back, Oliver murmurs, "It's gonna be okay. _You're_ gonna be okay. It’s okay. It's okay.”  

Oliver can feel the way Connor's shaking, and he wonders if the law student has ever heard those words before, if anyone ever took the time peel back the arrogant exterior and see the trembling mess underneath. Connor doesn’t ever talk about his past, but Oliver knows that relationships and commitment aren't just sworn off without a reason.  

He continues repeating his words until Connor's breathes even out and the trembling stops, and then continues still because Oliver knows how, even mid-breakdown, Connor will always feel the need to save face, to never reveal more that what a playful smirk and a raised eyebrow allows.  

Pulling back so that he can see the other man's face, Oliver says, "I know you're not gonna quit, even if that’s clearly what you need. You're not the type. But talk to me, okay? Whenever it gets to be too much, I'm here. I'll listen." 

Connor's nod is jerky, but his eyes are steady as he looks back and Oliver can't help but think that maybe they’re making progress.

**Author's Note:**

> so I really wanted a coliver scene in the last episode, but since that didn't happen, I just wrote my own. I figured that connor would want to talk about it, but wouldn't be able to actually _talk about it_ , y'know?  
> find me on [tumblr](http://pavlust.tumblr.com/)  
> thanks for reading, kudos, comments


End file.
